Lave-moi, dans ce fleuve de boue
by gumcrunch
Summary: It was never a perfect setup to begin with. No matter how they tried, it had never been devoid of feeling. Four MayWard oneshots that could have only happened in my head.
1. De coeur sec et des yeux gonflés

Author's Last Name / 1-2 Words from Title / 7

**A/N : I just cannot find the will in me to write about the ending of the last episode just yet. I need a couple more days to collect myself after that one. So what I did instead was write these shots. They're not necessarily connected or even chronologically ordered. But these are what I imagined to be how Ward and May connected with each other, physically and emotionally. Headcanons, if you will, about the two of them and bits of their backstories. Some of these have been running through my mind for some time now, but I was only able to try writing them down now in an effort to console myself.**

**These are four shots and hopefully, I'd be able to post the other two tomorrow. For the meantime, I hope you'd like what I've finished so far. **

**Title was from Alex Beaupain's "Ma Mémoire Sale."**

**I do not own anything.**

* * *

**_De coeur sec et des yeux gonflés_**

_"Grant, help me!"_

_ There was a look of concern on his face as he ran toward the smaller child, squatting over the metal grill of a street sewer and poking through its holes with a stick._

_ "Forget about it, Jaimie. It's just a piece of paper." _

_ He tried to take the filthy piece of wood to throw it away, but the smaller boy gripped it tighter and glared at him, frowning._

_ "It's not a piece of paper. It's a boat. And you made it for me so I'm going to get it back."_

_ The little boy ran the back of his hand across his eyes hastily, wiping his tears away and trying hard to hold back new ones from falling down them again._

_ "Stupid Maynard. Stupid, mean Maynard," the tears started falling down again anyway. "It was my boat. It was my boat, why'd he have to do that?"_

_ "I'll just make you a new one," he patted his brother on the back, reassuringly. "Come on, let go of the stick and let's head back home before it starts raining."_

_ "I don't want to go home, Grant. I don't want to see him anymore. I don't want to see any of them anymore. Please let's just stay here."_

_ "Don't be silly. You know we can't do that."_

_ "Why? Why can't we do it? We can live on our own! I'm a man already, and you, you're bigger than me! We'll get jobs. We'll live in a motel. We can do it, why are you saying we can't?"_

_ "Jaimie, stop being stupid."_

_ "I don't want to go home, Grant," he made no more efforts to stop himself from crying. "Please, let's not go home yet."_

_ He pulled his baby brother into a tight hug, mustering all the courage he could from himself. "I'm with you. I'll protect you. Always do and I always will. You trust me, right?"_

_ He felt a nod against his chest as an answer._

_ A streak of lightning flashed across the overcast skies, and the two of them jumped in surprise at the deafening crack of thunder that followed not too long afterward. But while he tried hard to make sure his face was masking fear, he found an image of unabashed excitement and glee on his baby brother's face, far from the deep sadness that was on it just a second ago, his innocent green eyes fixed to the space above._

_ "Jaimie, come on, we have to go home before it rains," he moved to hold the small hand into his bigger one, but the boy paid him no attention._

_ "No. Let's wait for the rain first."_

_ "Jaimie, come on!"_

_ "It's already raining, Grant."_

_ He watched a wide grin form on his brother's face and felt something cold hit the back of his neck. _

_ "It's raining!"_

_ He watched as his brother ran in circles around the open field, arms stretched to the heavens, hands spread open to catch the droplets on his palms. Jaimie's squeals of happiness rang in his ears. And with the sound of the earth welcoming this much-awaited visit after a long while, it was more than any kind of music he could ask for._

_ Grant Ward looked up and closed his eyes. Letting the rain fall on his face and his heart overflow with happiness as his ears followed the trail of his brother's voice crying, for the first time in joy._

_ "Grant, it's raining!"_

* * *

He turned around sharply as the sound of her voice cut through the silence.

"Didn't realise someone had taken my spot here tonight."

There was apparent amusement in her tone and a hint of smile on her lips as she walked toward him.

"Mm. Sorry. I'll leave if you want-," he started to get up just as she sat down beside him.

"Don't be silly. It's a big chair," she turned to face him with a smirk. "You can stay as long as you want."

He smiled in reply, erasing the initial look of nervous hurry from his face.

"Beer?" she raised a cold bottle and proffered it to him, and he gladly took her up on it, relaxing even more as he watched her lie on her back across the wing.

"So, why aren't you at the hotel?"

He took a swig and shrugged, placing the bottle down between the two of them.

"It's nice out tonight. Wouldn't want to spend it locked inside a room," he exhaled audibly, drawing his knees toward his chest and leaning back to support himself with his flat palms behind him.

"Skye and FitzSimmons already claimed ownership of my bed already anyway. Another karaoke night gone drunkenly wild," he snickered and turned toward her. "Why aren't _you_ at the hotel?"

His eyes roamed her prone body before he realised she was already answering his question.

"You're not listening."

"I am," he feigned, moving to lie on his back on the flat surface like she was doing. "Something with Coulson and er—plane diagnostics."

She chuckled. "Close enough."

A pause.

"And I wanted some air. I wanted some sort of… stress relief, I guess."

He watched as she propped herself on her elbow and grabbed the bottle to take a drink, before settling back down again.

"Didn't expect I'd find company."

He raised his head to place his hands underneath it and sighed. "I thought I'd see some stars tonight, but there aren't any."

"Hmm. You like stars, Ward?"

He smiled sheepishly in the dark before turning sideways to face her.

"I do."

She let out a quiet laugh without looking at him. "I do, too."

He felt something stir within him as he heard this tiny bit of information from her. Even though it seemed useless, it was new. And learning new things about her—what she liked or what she did not like—excited him. Because he never dared to ask her.

There was a thoughtful look in her eyes as she stared into space.

"There won't be any stars tonight, though. Looks like it's going to rain."

"Yeah, figured that when I saw the clouds a couple hours back," he sighed. "Thought I'd still try anyway."

The distant rumble of passing motorcycles momentarily sliced through the comfortable silence that had stretched between them for a couple of minutes now.

"My brother, James," he began to speak shyly, unable to hide the quiver in his voice, "he loved rain, you know."

There was a reassuring frame of still silence that answered him, encouraged him to carry on.

"It never really rained much where we lived so, every time it did, he always got excited about it."

She stared without a word at him, noting how he smiled to himself trying to obscure the sheen of pain evident in his eyes.

"Sometimes, I replay those memories in my head to drown out everything else. Just to remind myself what it was like. How it felt like," he clenched his jaw and let out a long, heavy breath. "Happiness. It becomes less and less clear in my head every time I try to remember."

There were no tears in his eyes but the misery in his voice could have just as easily been tangible. She waited for him to turn his head toward her, and she let a sliver of relief flicker in her eyes upon seeing the look of defeated tranquillity on his face despite his sadness. Defeated, but tranquil.

"I pay back more than expected, don't I?" he chuckled when he saw how intent her gaze was on him.

She smiled. "And all because I told you I liked stars."

His hand found its way to hers, their fingers interlacing, and he breathed out satisfaction that she didn't recoil from his touch.

"Right now. Right now, I know I'm happy."

"You know," she whispered as she drummed her fingertips on his knuckles. "Happiness normally isn't associated with the mind."

He kept his eyes on her attentively.

"Maybe you could start paying more attention to _that _part of yourself so it wouldn't be so hard to remember," she went nearer toward him and cupped his cheek lightly with her free hand. "And _you_ deserve to remember what happiness feels like."

He nodded quietly, averting his gaze from her briefly to contemplate what she said, only to find delight in her eyes as soon as he looked back into them. He raised his eyebrows at her questioningly and felt something cold hit and slide down his cheek.

"It's raining, Ward," the corners of her eyes crinkled with marked joy as she turned away from him to look at the heavens.

He watched as she stretched her free arm toward the sky, welcoming the droplets as they fell and slid down her fingers into an open embrace. His ears caught her silent laughter. And with the sound of the metal wing thumping lightly underneath the shower, it was more than any kind of music he could ask for.

Grant Ward looked up and closed his eyes. Letting the rain fall on his face and his heart swell as he gripped her hand tighter and laid it firmly on his chest. And things he thought had long left him came flashing back. For the first time in years, he remembered happiness.


	2. Comme un torrent de lave

Author's Last Name / 1-2 Words from Title / 6

**A/N This one is connected to an earlier MayWard fic that I wrote called "_Agony_," so you might notice some elements from that story actually realised in this if you read it some time ago. This was how I imagined their first time went.**

* * *

_**Comme un torrent de lave**_

He had never seen her as bare as she was now, standing with her back to him toward the cheap minibar on the far left corner of the hotel room. Her jacket had been tossed carelessly onto the armchair across the bed, and the black tank top left on her could have easily been the least amount of clothing he had ever seen her in, apart from when she was working out. The sound of whiskey trickling into a glass was the only one he could make out. That and the steady thump of his heart beating, was pretty much everything he heard. He closed the door carefully and took a couple steps forward as soon as he heard it click closed behind him, daring himself to get nearer to her.

"You don't mind?" he almost felt awkward breaking the silence.

"No."

If her answer had not actually been definitive, he had no way of knowing. She remained still, not looking at him.

"May?" he walked closer, approaching her with caution. "Is it okay if I stay here tonight?"

She let out a heavy breath. "You call your own shots, Ward." A pause. "You don't have to worry about it. I don't mind."

"You're sure?" the last step toward her might have been the most intimidating to take.

She shook her head, picked up her glass, and returned it back onto the surface without taking a sip. Still not turning around to face him.

"I don't mind," she whispered.

He could feel his veins throbbing as he stood behind her, a mere inch of space separating her from him. If it had been residual intensity from the Berserker, he was not sure. All he could confirm from himself was that something strong was brewing inside of him. He was being drawn in. By heat. He could feel her emanating _heat._

She was scorching. Her skin was so hot, he had to actively restrain his reflexes from kicking in, from letting his hand retreat when all that was keeping him from making contact with her body was himself. Slowly, wilfully, he closed the distance, and in an instant, realised the lengths of madness he could have fallen into, had he succumbed to that split-second of hesitation. The crackle of heat that escaped between his fingers as his palm lay flat on her back was otherworldly. If he had thought for a moment she could burn him, there were no words to describe what he felt to learn he thought right.

Her warmth was electrifying. A sudden rush of energy that pierced like needles into his body and shocked his senses to function. Arousing all the right parts to attention. Compelling his entire self to take action. She was burning. And right then and there, he knew he wanted to consume every last bit of that fire in her.

No, not consume.

Savour. He wanted to take her heat into his mouth and take all the time in the world to taste it. _Regardless._

Her shoulders slumped a little as she exhaled a long, silent sigh, and he took it as a sign of permission. Had it been one of mutual desire for what would happen or simply an acquiescence, he had no time for any more clarifications.

Without another thought, his hand moved from her back to her shoulder, then under her arm to cup her breast, and he heard her quietly gasp as he let out a warm breath across her jaw. She tilted her head to the side as he squeezed her chest and let his free hand move in the same direction as the other one did. Sliding up her back, on her shoulder, and down the same access under her arm to land on its awaiting target. He stroked her chest attentively. Deliberately. Applying what he thought was just the perfect amount of pressure as he massaged her breasts and felt her nipples become erect as he scratched lightly on her shirt.

She was so warm. Scalding his tongue as he licked a path across her neck, he had to clamp his lips on the area and stop himself from wounding her flesh as he absorbed her heat into his mouth. He felt himself quiver as an audible moan reached his ears. An actual expression of pleasure which he was delighted to realise, did not come from him. He sucked and licked and grazed on her skin with his teeth, as he made his way from one side of her neck to her throat. All the while maintaining as much attention to what he was doing to her chest and hoping to hear an affirmation from her once more. Until he realised she was twisting away from his hold.

There was a smacking sound as her skin unlatched from his lips.

"Ward," she whispered his name as she turned around to face him. Her head was bowed a little; her eyes, closed; and her breathing, dense and thick, as she tried to regain control over her body.

"Ward," her hands rested on his chest as if she was trying to push him away, but he remained at the exact same position. Her elbows were trembling, visibly, and it might have been because she already had a good amount of liquor in her system. Or because she was fighting a lost cause.

"Ward," she raised her face to look at him. And if his eyes had reflected pure, brazen hunger for every single part of her, he made absolutely no attempt to hinder it from getting through to her.

"Ward… _please_," she flinched at the ambiguity of her own request, and noted the obvious satisfaction that snaked across his lips when he confirmed her uncertainty.

She would have tried changing her tone to one with more lucidity, had he not crashed his mouth against hers. She would have tried questioning what he expected to get from this, had he not drowned her words with the feel of his tongue tracing lines on her palate and forcing its way down her throat. She would have tried stopping him, she would have tried saying she didn't want this, had he not pinned her against the nearest wall her racing mind could bear to find. She would have ended everything before anything like this started happening, had she-

"_Will you let me?_" he whispered as he finally released her lips to take in a breath.

* * *

Neither of them had control over what ensued next.

He could feel her body accepting every attempt at contact he made toward her, as she arched and writhed under his touch. He could feel her accommodating all the whims he imposed on her, and her reactions were no less than perfect fuel to spur him all the more. He wanted to be tender, he could have sworn he tried. But he wanted her so much, so urgently; every other intention that might have formed in his mind was blocked by this single one.

His tongue was ravaging her mouth; his fingers holding her in place, as he struggled to maintain a steady pace, thrusting into her. Everything about her was intense. Everything about her was _hot_. Her breath, her skin, her tightness that was closing around him and grasping his member into a fitting grip. A second for breath was a waste of moment he reluctantly had to oblige to, but each and every time he returned to kiss her, he found his desire had grown greater.

He was becoming close, and so was she. He heard an unexpected whimper that seemed to be of pain, and with an alarmed look, he broke away from kissing her neck to search her face for what was wrong.

She refused to open her eyes. She refused to let him see what they might have been reflecting. If the secrets that she kept hidden were brimming through their corners, she did not want him to have any part of that. She did not want the possibility of him thinking it was because of his doing.

"Am I hurting you?"

He freed his right hand from behind her back to catch her chin between his fingers and raise her face to his, shifting his stance and strengthening his hold on her with his one arm so he could balance her better against the wall. She shook her head and turned her face away from his hold, burying it into the crook of his neck. She inhaled the scent of him and, sensing that he was not convinced by her answer, she bit into the flesh on his shoulder and started a path of open-mouthed kisses from there toward his neck, up to the skin behind his ear. She felt him pulsating inside her as she released short breaths from her mouth each time her lips landed on him.

And that was enough to reignite him. She could feel him struggling to absorb so much of her as his hands went back to roaming her body. Grabbing her, caressing her, gripping her into place for him to devour. But despite that, she found he was not selfish. As much as he took from her, she could feel him wanting so much to give her something in return. As he plunged upward repeatedly into her, fighting desperately to get deeper in, she felt him wanting to share with her. If it had been anger, if it had been hate, it did not matter. All that was important was that he was trying to fill her with feeling. Any sort of feeling. And she found it rather brave of him to try.

Their kisses were becoming more vicious as they began to approach climax. Their embrace, an impenetrable lock that secured them both from hesitation or withdrawal. She opened her mouth to let him suck on her tongue, and he took every advantage he could obtain from her consent. He used his fingers to open her wider as he felt her walls constrict around his shaft, and she let him penetrate her as far as he could.

Her body sparked as they both peaked over unbridled ecstasy. A streak of fever blazed through to his core as he exulted in the sensation of her depth. And in the following second, he finally caught fire.


	3. Du bout de ta langue nettoie-moi partout

**A/N Thank you so much for all the positive comments on the first two shots. I really appreciate all your kind words and the effort you guys put into reviewing. I had a little difficulty finishing this, and the last one would be delayed as well because my computer broke down and right now, I'm actually borrowing someone else's while re-doing all of my writing on my phone. **

**Anyway, here's another shot that's more on Ward and May's emotional connection, in my imagination. This is about how Ward unconsciously helps May deal with her demons (briefly described in "_Caprices of Angels_"). Also, slight headcanons about their first meeting and May's childhood (which I somewhat introduced in "_Flashback_"). I hope you find it okay. Thank you so much again for reading!**

* * *

_**Du bout de ta langue nettoie-moi partout**_

_It was a rise that not even the longest of roads could seem to pull down. A cloud of volatile, nameless emotions that would flare up without warning, and threaten to tear anew the defences she was starting to build successfully back to the ground; unravelling the stitches of the façade she had painstakingly struggled to conceal herself with for some time now. _

_ She was trying to start a new life, creating a new person. She thought she was finally beginning to bury away those images in her head where she could not see them. Images of that place, of those people, of blood on her hands. She thought stripping off the suit and isolating herself from her colleagues, killing hours and days under a mountain of paperwork in a narrow cubicle was finally letting her forget._

_ But then nights like this would come. Never expected nor ever invited. Nights like tonight, where she would find herself in the middle of nowhere, fleeing. Escaping from a shadow that refused to depart from her mind._

_ She could feel her lungs give way as she crossed through the woods, breathless, catching the sound of leaves and fallen branches snapping under her feet. She paid no heed to the pounding mass in her chest, nor to the aching legs that she kept pushing, dragging helplessly toward some unknown destination. Stopping only when her knees had become too feeble, she crashed to the ground, looking up to a moon that never seemed to be more generous. Always no more than a crescent sliver of faint light barely surviving the dark. _

_ She raised both her hands where she could see them. They were shaking, as they always did on these nights, stinging as if something was searing her from beneath her palms. They felt raw and tender and warm, and she stared at them. She stared into her hands and watched as the skin started to split open, blood oozing through deep gashes and boiling as it flowed down her wrists to her forearms. _

_ Through the night, her hands would be bleeding. Her entire body would be burning with blood that never seemed to run out. And she would only lay still, hoping that by the time she opened her eyes in the morning, she would at least appear healed._

* * *

It continues to haunt her even after years.

"May."

His voice reaches her ears underneath the water and her eyes shoot open to see a nearly distorted figure towering above her. She lets a small breath escape from her mouth, creating a bubble that dies as soon as it reaches the surface, and props herself up on her elbows, drawing her knees toward her chest as she sits up. A splash hits the ground as the tub overflows to accommodate her change in position. She feels a chill creep up her shoulders when she rises from the water and she clenches her jaw tightly to keep her teeth from chattering. Tilting her head upward to look at him, she squints into the white light as she readjusts her vision, and sees him staring at her intently, an inquiring expression on his face.

"What are you doing?"

He crouches down to her level as he waits for an answer. She breaks her gaze from him and turns it to the wall opposite her. Her eyes almost completely emotionless.

"I was wondering where you'd gone tonight," he whispers, deciding she has no plans to answer his question. "I figured you'd still be at the cockpit after everyone else had gone out, but you weren't there so-"

He purses his lips into a tight line and exhales heavily, wondering if any of his words had gotten through to her or if he was at least making sense. There were only so many words he could come up with to translate what he was trying to say.

"I know you don't need to hear it but… sorry, it was just… you were something else today," he smiles partly hoping for a reaction but there is nothing. "I don't know what went down after the comms went out, but-"

No response.

He moves to sit on the corner of the tub and crosses his arms over his chest, determined to push this conversation through while he hides his concern at her silence.

"You don't seem too happy about the mission."

She acknowledges his persistence. But as she tilts her head up to show appreciation, she realises by the way he looks back at her, her face must have been reflecting something other than what she intended. She is quick to note the worry that flashes across his eyes.

"I'm fine, Ward."

"You sure? I don't think—"

Slowly, she raises her hands from the water. They are shaking.

He tries not to look more shocked than he really is.

"May, what are you—how cold is this?" he dips his hand into the tub and quickly draws it back out. "What the hell? May, this water is freezing!"

"My hands were warm," she whispers. "But I'm fine now."

It takes a moment for him to gather that by 'fine' she means she doesn't want to talk about it. And that it means she's not fine either. He exhales audibly, collecting himself so as not to agitate her.

"See, I told you," he finally says after a long pause, "there's a reason for sidearms."

She smiles weakly and he takes her hands into his, gripping them tightly. They stop shaking soon after. He notes how cold they are against his skin.

"You know, for something so powerful, they sure as hell are soft."

He runs his thumb gently across the back of her fingers, staring at them thoughtfully.

"You probably don't remember this anymore but we've… met before, actually. Before Coulson got this team together. The first time, I didn't know who you were yet. First week at the academy," he shifts his eyes up to see her looking back at him attentively. "And I only realised who you were about two, maybe three, years after but er—the first time we met, I was getting my ass handed to me at a cadet match."

He takes in a sharp breath and holds it in, a little nervous. "For some reason, you were there with Professor Walker and well… by stroke of luck, I got hurled by my opponent toward you."

He turns her hands up, tracing lightly along the lines and faded scars on her palms.

"You grabbed me by the arm and shoved me back to the mat. But not before telling me that I was—"

"—too flimsy to be one of Garrett's," she interrupts him.

He breathes out a small, surprised laugh. "You—you remember?"

She smiles a little and leans back to rest her head against the tub.

"First time I got to know how these felt like," he squeezes her hands lightly and smiles back, unable to hide the astonishment in his voice. "I can't believe you actually remember that."

She lets go of his hold and dips her hands back into the water, deep sadness glazing over her eyes once more.

"It was the day before we went to Bahrain."

Her sigh is long and deep and full of unsaid sorrow that her system can never be fully rid of. She feels his eyes trained on her but she does not look back at him. She does not look at him when he strips his clothes off before her. She does not look at him when he enters the tub and sits down at the end opposite her, practically spilling half the water to the floor as the overflowing tub makes room for the two of them. She does not look at him as he waits patiently for her to acknowledge how much he wants to make her feel better.

She cannot look at him when she says—

"They used to tell me I have a painter's hands, you know. Just like my father," she wrings them underneath the water. "They used to tell me I would be a creator just like him. That my hands would create beautiful things just like he did."

Her mind flashes to memories of paper and ink and paint. Of white and blue specks on butterfly wings fluttering on top of chubby, little fingers; mauve and orange sunsets melting behind a dusty locked window; jagged grey mountains piercing into the feathery clouds of the early morning. Of gentle eyes and a generous smile, and warm hands that envelope hers, guiding her brushstrokes over an empty white canvas.

"They used to tell me I would bring life to beauty," she exhaled sharply, "but they lied."

She squeezed her eyes shut tight and her head started racing with a different set of images. Shadows and darkness and scarlet sand; rusty old chains that could barely reflect the moonlight; contorted, mutilated faces with mouths hanging open in soundless screams; blood seeping from slashes on her knuckles; and fire. So much fire.

She breaks away from her thoughts and instinctively opens her eyes when she feels him reaching out to her.

He grasps her hands again, firmly clasping them in his own.

"That's enough," he pulls her toward him. "Come here."

He holds her close, making her rest her head against his chest and wrapping her in a tight embrace. He presses a kiss into her hair and lets out a breath through his mouth across her cheek.

"I don't want to hear you say you don't need this. Just please let me hold you right now," he whispers, feeling her slowly relax against his body.

He raises her hands up, still cradling them as if they were made of glass. He brings her right one close to his mouth and places a soft kiss on each of her fingertips, dragging them a little upward and letting his lips linger on her palm. With closed eyes, he inhales in her scent before pulling away to do the same thing on her left.

She lets him take his time, memorising the gentle sensation he is planting on her skin.

"I wish you could see just as much all the good that you've done with these hands, Melinda."

He tilts her head up toward him and lowers his enough to brush his lips against hers. He kisses her lightly at first, before prodding his tongue softly against her partly open mouth, deepening their union as he relishes her familiar sweet taste.

She obliges, without fully knowing why his company seems to be becoming more and more comforting by the day. She had been used to spending nights like this alone, but this novelty was—surprisingly—much more helpful than dealing with it alone.

His embrace remains secure, even when he finally breaks the kiss.

"Let me hold you," he says to her quietly. "I don't care if you don't need it. _I do._"

She closes her eyes and takes in a big breath, a content smile forming on her lips.

"_Okay_."

Through the night, together, they wait for her to heal.


	4. Ce n'est qu'en moi qu'elle vit

Author's Last Name / 1-2 Words from Title / 6

**A/N This is the last fic of my shot series. Sorry it took me a while to update. I decided to scrap my earlier draft and write my take on the last episode. This is pretty much how I chose to understand what happened to this ship, the only logical way I could view it. The text is in Ward's POV, jumping from his thoughts to what he is doing at the moment.**** I hope you like this chap as much as you did the previous ones.  
**

* * *

_**Traque-la, ce n'est qu'en moi qu'elle vit**_

Perhaps, it is not enough of a reason to wish for morning never to come.

_"There is no risk with me, Ward. There will never be."_

The flashing numbers on the bedside clock blink once before the last red digit changes. 04:29. He lays in silence, memorising the way her chest rises and falls with every breath, entranced by how her skin illuminates in the blue darkness bathing the entire room. His eyes roam through her entirety. Black hair splayed out on the pillow; the smooth line of her jaw leading to her porcelain neck; the hard planes of her shoulders; and sculpted arms gracefully posed alongside the fullness of softly peaked breasts. He takes in the contrasting magnificence of strong muscles and delicate curves lying bare and still beside him, faintly outlined by the glow of city lights from outside the window. For a moment, he lets himself be tempted by the idea of stripping away the thin white sheet carelessly draping her body, and exposing her completely to him. Again. Just once more. But he resists, and almost considers punishing himself for even letting the thought enter his mind as he gazes even more intently at her—a fragile crystal being, adrift in a world that is all her own behind closed eyelids.

All he wants at this exact minute is that rush. He just wants to pull her back into this moment where he sees her now, and experience that feeling of certain danger flooding over him. Flooding over her. Again. Just once more.

* * *

The change had been too sudden, he could still remember, when he made that mistake the day after their first. The first time he woke up next to her naked figure, sitting with her back to him at the edge of the bed, sunlight glistening on beads of water dripping from her hair and sliding down her skin.

"We can't do this, Ward."

He would have voluntarily restrained himself, had she made things clear earlier.

"What are you talking about?"

He asked the question in jest, taking it upon himself to assume what she must have been feeling after the hours they spent with each other the night before. Assuming she must have felt the same way he did, that those hours were not yet done.

"It's too early," his smile had been unintentional, forming on his lips without him realising as he planted his mouth on her neck, gently sucking where he had her moaning just hours ago.

"What's a couple extra minutes?"

He could still remember how his shadow shielded her bare body from the sun as he wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her with his own. And the cold steely look in her brown eyes that erased his smile as quickly as the way she coiled her fingers around his wrists to release herself from his embrace.

"Did I do something?"

The face that was looking at him was enough of an answer. He sat speechless, staring back at someone else. Suddenly, she was not the Melinda May he remembered lying next to last night. And the hours, all of them had taken her away from him without warning.

"We can't do this, Ward. Not like this. Not without limits."

* * *

Limits. Like the one holding him back from brushing his fingers on her cheek right now; preventing his fingertips from running down the curve of her throat, across her collarbones and the width of her chest, before resting to scratch lightly—teasingly—on the tips of her breasts; stopping his palm from rubbing warm gentle circles on her stomach and waist. Limits, like the inch of space separating his hand from the sheer fabric hiding her intimate core from his view.

He lets his hand hover, quivering thumb and middle finger already poised to take her by surprise. He can feel himself growing stiff just thinking about the ways he could attack her, and lets his mind race as he recreates the sight and sound of her reactions in his head. He extends his fingers down, lightly brushing against the sheet, and she stirs away from him to lie on her side.

His eyes dart toward the digital clock and the red lines read 04:52. As if, even in sleep, she knows the time well enough to know when to turn her back on him.

He collapses in a defeated heap on his back, perhaps hoping the movement on the bed would wake her up; though, then again, it's no use. Even if she did wake up, his May has probably been taken away already by the hours yet again. And his efforts and expectations would once more meet ice and indifference.

He stares at the elegant form next to him, and he can't help but ache. Ache for her, for danger and risk. Ache for the hours to bring her back and for daylight never to appear. He feels streaks of heat building up in his abdomen, and his hand travels down to his throbbing member to wrap it in a snug hold. He swallows back a thick breath and tilts his head sideways toward her, watching her as he strokes himself to ease the ache, longing so much for his May to be the one beside him.

* * *

He would find her in the morning, in many ways, exactly the same as she had been the night before. Beautiful, more than many he had seen in his life. When she spoke to him, her voice carried the same underlying patience and concern, despite the reservations that came with a few choice words. Her touch still made him feel more secure. More able. _More present_.

Yet in as many ways, Melinda May was as distinct as night was to day. _His _Melinda May, the one he would close his eyes next to. The one whose dark brown eyes were warm and gentle and accepting. The one who did not hide even the slightest of her emotions from him, whose disappointments could be heard and whose smiles are available. Melinda May, who would hold onto him tightly in the dark and allow him to revel in the danger of not letting her go.

_"I am not some recruit who can't separate church from state. I'm on the same page as you. So don't flatter yourself."_

It seemed like the perfect way to tell her there wasn't any risk with him either, that he knew perfectly well the part he played in this arrangement, and that he understood the consequence of falling meant the end of all this.

There was no risk with him. Not when he felt her reassuring caresses or the tingling sensation of her breath against his skin. Not when she would plant soft kisses on his mouth, tongue tracing the inner edge of his upper lip before her teeth would gently bite on his lower one. Not when she would bring her forehead to touch his, locking their gazes into each other through climax.

There was no risk with him. Even through all the times he felt his chest swell as if he was going to burst with so much longing for her, so much desire to keep her in his arms the same way in the morning. He would not let that danger detract him.

* * *

That is what he insists on himself right now.

He looks helplessly at Melinda May lying beside him, the ache still not easing from within him. 05:10. The skyline is dimming as lights are being turned off one by one, faint rosy wisps of colour starting to rise from the distant horizon.

It takes him a second more to decide it is a futile match. Unable to help himself, he drapes his arm around her and pulls her backward into a tight embrace.

"I want you. I want you again, Melinda," he whispers against her skin as he buries his face into her neck, breathing her in.

He hears her muffled response and feels her shifting toward him, his eyes still closed and his heart racing as he feels her rest her hand against his chest.

"Grant?"

He opens his eyes to see deep tender ones staring back at him. The look on her face is enough to bring him over the edge of ecstasy. _Her_, his May.

"What were you saying?"

He lets his body respond for him, taking over her and answering all succeeding questions with his lips. He takes her in completely, engraving all of her in his mind once more—the coolness of her skin, the comfort of her touch, the passion in her kisses. He relishes the feel of her body reacting to every movement he initiates under her, how she melts against him the same way she did three hours ago, and the sense of protection that fills him up as he fills her.

"I want you, Melinda. I want you so much."

He feels himself get completely lost in the moment, arching upward involuntarily for one last thrust into her, before crashing back down in a trembling heap. He feels her body blanket his and he holds onto her tight, hoping to stretch his last minutes right now with her.

The sun filters in through the window and she squints into the orange light.

"Calm down. Calm down, Ward."

He tries hard to hide the resentment washing over him as she pulls herself off to let him go. Just like that, she is gone from him. Again.

And he finds himself craving danger. He finds himself longing for the risk.

Just once more.

* * *

**A/N So, it's not really handling the aftermath of what happened. I wanted to get to what might have been the reason, and obviously I'm more inclined to believe it was May cutting off Ward before he fell in too deep. It's the most logical perspective that I can come up with, because I choose to think that if they would be giving life to another ship through this, there would be more a concrete and close-to-canon basis to it. Jealousy just doesn't seem to fit, in my opinion, especially Melinda May.**

**Shoutout to the brilliant MayWard writers who bravely tackled this issue way before I could even wrap my head fully around it- robinh, BadInLatin, Sub-Zero MKA, and The North Wyn. I derived a lot of what I wrote here from your works, so please don't be creeped out by my citation.**

**And huge thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. It's always tons of fun reading positive comments. My appreciation knows no bounds.**

***All titles derived from Alex Beaupain's _Ma Mémoire Sale. _I own nothing.***


End file.
